Errand

Curiosity killed the cat.

Satisfaction brought her back,
Down the road and up the track,
That's where I'll be waiting.

Autumn stole from Summer's shells,
Reds and pinks and silver bells,
Run the woods and hide in Hell,
That's where I'll be waiting.

Shame the Devil, make him sigh,
With seven truths and seven lies,
Then come to me, sweet Love of mine,
You know that I'll be waiting.

Lightning is a little tap
That splits the tree and burns it flat,
A kiss is nothing more than that,
So kiss me, little Kitty.

Tell your man you're fetching cream,
Then jump the fence and come to me,
Truth is what it needs to be,
So dark, so quick, so pretty.

_________

The Football Game

The football players are getting like marshmallows.

The blockers squish.

The runners ooze.

The situation worsens steadily until the officials are standing there in the middle of a bunch of goo.

Players and teams are indistinguishable.

The commissioner is like a pudding in his seat and cannot be revived.

Angry fans surround the officials.

They speak of the money spent on tickets.

What are you going to do?

The officials are nervous.

There really is no provision...

_________

And now, please indulge me while I pander to my bestie, Mama Zen....

Happy Saturday. Go, Sooners!

__________

Old Postcard Wednesday (On Thursday): Reading!

Hello my darlings. It is, once again, time for Old Postcard Wednesday, the baby and brainchild of the charming and singular Lydia at Writerquake. Some of the more churlish among you may point out that today is Thursday, not Wednesday. And then I will point out that I never liked you very much really. After all, I am a poetess, today is the full moon, I am always hormonal right before that, and it is September still, in which month I am always a little wiggy. You want dependable regularity, get an accountant and fill her with Activia. 

Now then, about today's postcard! This is a reproduction of an ad for Huntley & Palmer's Biscuits. These are "superior reading biscuits"! Sounds like a non sequiter to me. I am picturing a rare volume ruined by crumbs. But in fact, these are superior Reading biscuits, Huntley & Palmer having been originally based in Reading, Berkshire. This sets off my anglophobia, but it is a fact nonetheless. Still, I love nothing better than to blithely ignore facts and do what I will, and so I am going with "reading" biscuits.

I love reading, and I love books. It is a girl thing and I love girl things. Oh, I know, there is a rumor that some men read, too, but I think that only applies to Jane's auto parts catalogs and Sports Illustrated. Nothing in which our tormented but beautiful heroine braves terrible obstacles and heartless lovers, only to arrive at the season's most important soiree in the nick of time to win Best Gown and marry the doctor and become pregnant before the last page. Or, in my mental rewrite, in time to marry the female woodworker who won Best Tuxedo and they move to Northampton together and live happily ever after with seven cats and two dogs. 

Okay, I am about to reveal something nerdy but wonderful about myself. I keep a book journal, and have done so since late 1987. The picture above is not the very same journal, but is extremely similar. I have recorded every book I have finished for over 22 years. And then I count the paper clips and tap my left elbow twice while spinning to the east. All right all right, I made those last things up. I'm telling you, a little bit of fussiness never hurt anyone. I am my mother's daughter to at least this small extent.

In the front of my journal, I like to write down quotes that I come across and like. This one, from Thoreau, is my favorite:

"How many a man has dated a new era in his life from the reading of a book! The book exists for us, perchance, which will explain our miracles and reveal new ones. The at present unutterable things we may find somewhere uttered. These same questions that disturb and puzzle and confound us have in their turn occurred to all the wise men; not one has been omitted; and each has answered them, according to his ability, by his words and his life. Moreover, with wisdom we shall learn liberality."

While the notion of "wise men" may seem like an oxymoron, I still love this quote. (and people say I rush to meet trouble half way....I don't know what they're talking about.) 

I am not a fast reader. Thoreau also said that "books must be read as deliberately and reservedly as they were written." I'm going with that, rather than what Miss Stumpf, my third grade teacher, spouted. Something along the lines of "I despair of this dim and fractious child!"

WARNING: this is where my post momentarily devolves into fussy, self-involved number crunching. I have to do it. Skip ahead, and save yourself. That's my advice. Now then. Every year, my goal is to read 26 books, or one every other week. I have achieved my goal 8 times. My high was 41 in 1988, when I was off my feet with a blown knee. My low was 13 in 2002. This year I have completed only 9 books so far. Miss Stumpf is going to have my head. 

I have read the most books by authors whose names begin with "B"...61. As yet, there has been no author whose name begins with "X". I have finished the most books in January and May, 52. I have finished the least in April, 33. I know why this is. Two reasons. For thirteen years, I was married to a person with bipolar disorder, who went dependably cuckoo every April like clockwork. I had my hands full. The second reason is that baseball season begins in April. By May, the Tigers are done, and I am back to my books. 

Lydia, the aforementioned Queen of Postcards (It's in your tarot deck. Go ahead, look, you'll see that I'm right. Why would I lie?) has bestowed upon me a blog award, pictured above just before being placed upon my bookshelf. I am to reveal seven things about myself. I will try to maintain the reading theme I have established, but, for the reasons outlined at the beginning of this post, I may suddenly veer off into Railroad Legends, or Common Diseases Of The Spleen or any number of other ridiculous subjects. Here goes:

1. I sometimes fall hopelessly in love with a fictional character or characters. Then, when the book is done, I miss them, and mope for days. I do. 

2. This happened with my most recent novel, Robert Girardi's "Madeliene's Ghost", which I heartily recommend. I fell completely in love with the character Antoinette, who is a charismatic, pill-popping, raven-haired, lost Louisiana rich girl. Right up my street! Come back, Nettie. I miss you.

3. The first entry in my journal was Henri Troyat's "Peter The Great", on November 15th, 1987. I read it on the plane on the way to California, where my then-fiancee and I had a date with Disneyland. I love biography, have loved it ever since I was a grade schooler. I can still recall my pure, fascinated joy upon finding and devouring bio's of Teddy Roosevelt, Chief Black Hawk, and, um, Orlando Cepeda that I found copies of in the school library. The pages of these books were soft and rounded with age and handling, and were kept in a low corner, on powder blue metal shelving. My Happy Place. These days, I lean more toward Annie Oakley, Lily Langtry and Evelyn Nesbit. Less baseball, more bustles!

4. My favorite book for a long time was John Steinbeck's "East Of Eden." I still think it is, in my estimation, the greatest book ever. But it has dropped down to sixth or seventh on my personal favorites, because there are no gypsies, sexy lesbians, or ghosts in it that I recall. 

5. My favorite now is Sylvia Brownrigg's "Pages For You." It is about 18 year old college freshman Flannery, who falls in love with an older, female, graduate assistant. It is the truest and best description of first love that I have ever read. It absolutely broke my heart. Really, I was a wreck for a week. My favorite, ever.

6. ....which replaced my previous favorite, "Keeping You A Secret" by Julie Anne Peters. This is a novel written for young adults (I like those; I must be young at heart) about a high school senior named Holland, who has a boyfriend and a mother who has big plans for her future. Then she notices new transfer Cece, who is wearing a tee shirt that says "IMRU." What does it mean? It means that everything is about to change. The most heartbreaking part is when Holland's mother throws her out, for loving Cece. This happens to LGBT youth all the time. I loved this book and it is still my second favorite, ever.

7. Number Seven is that, if you have read all the way to here, I love you. That's all.

xo

FB

_______

   

The Hungry Pussycat

The cat who ate Minnesota
Made a sandwich from both the Dakotas,
Then started in on Wisconsin
From room service at the Algonquin.

This naughty cat
Proceeded to bat
Iowa into Wyoming;
Then ate Missouri
In quite a hurry
After a careful de-boning.

Milwaukee was next to go down the hatch
But she kindly avoided Chicago;
Hats off to a kitty who understands
What to eat and what not to.

Her thirst she did slake
With several Great Lakes
And for afters, a bit of Ohio;
Come back later this week
When she's liable to sneak
A large chunk of Athens and Cairo.

__________

for One Shot Wednesday

Human

One day, there they are.

Just like that,

Talking to somebody,

Laying on the charm.

In the moment that you see them, you know--

This is why the soul must be able to slip out of the body;

Because the body remembers,

And when it does,

It is no fit place for anything holy to abide.



There were the weeks after,

Of remembering how to breathe,

How to eat,

How to sleep...

How to get up in the morning,

Make the coffee,

Walk the dog.



Each little victory was made of paper-thin faith and the help of friends--

Those few you could even tell what happened.

Come on, girl,

Stand up.

Move in the world again,

Albeit not as carelessly as before.

In time, the soul slips back in, by teaspoonsful.



Then one day, there they are,

The one with the axe to grind,

The one who treated you as not even human;

Talking to somebody,

Laying on the charm,

Just as if they were.

__________

Ramona Of The Crows

Ramona Of The Crows cannot sleep.

When she lies down, she becomes a superhighway--

The day goes by,

Each detail with its own little headlights;

None of them can read a map.

Circle.

Accelerate.

Exit.

Enter.

Well fuck me, thinks Ramona Of The Crows,

Who can sleep on the center line?



All day, she longs just to close her eyes.

If you and a coffee pot were drowning...

Well, it's probably better not to ask.

She begins to feel a little unreal,

Like a movie of herself.

She would love to pitch a meltdown, and go stalking back to her trailer like a deliciously offended Queen,

But there is no trailer--

There is only her life, and its million little cars.



At night, her body is like a roomful of restless spirits.

Her neck says, "I have lost so much. The things that I love vanish."

Her shoulder says, "I have failed at business. I am ruined."

Her knee just whines like a cranky toddler.

There are only two things that can make Ramona Of The Crows sleep--

A really good orgasm or three,

And televised baseball.

By the third inning, the little stitched spheres become sheep, leaping over the fence,

And the droning announcer becomes the Sandman.



Together in a car, they all set out--

The players, the sheep, the announcer, the restless spirits, Ramona Of The Crows, everybody.

Soon, she is inside herself, keeping herself awake.

She gets up, muttering, "I'm not serene enough for this shit,"

And puts on the coffee.

She is Ramona Of The Crows, Queen of the Dawn, lost Daughter of the Dream-Time.

Don't fuck with her.

She is a woman and a gypsy,

Always there, and always gone.

_________

Anna's Boots

The room was full that first time,

But I picked you out right away

As if you had called to me in a secret language,

Like a high tone that only dogs can hear.



When you found me,

I was screwing around with little cotton clouds

When what I had gotten a taste for

Was the whole damn sky.



You asked me, "Do you trust me, baby?

I want to see how far I can fling you."

I said yes, because I already knew

How angels and devils sometimes create beautiful sin out of half-holy alliances.



My favorite devil was gone, and I missed her--

Time had not shook loose of me yet;

And so I searched for her echo in our short weeks together,

But all that I found was a dissatisfying ticking, like boots on pavement, walking away.

______________

for Magpie 32